


working late

by feeltripping



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Desk Sex, F/F, Oral Sex, Power Bottom Clarke, Top Lexa, Vaginal Fingering, under the desk sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 22:45:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10649616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltripping/pseuds/feeltripping
Summary: Prompt from tumblr: Jealous Lexa fucking Clarke on her work desk.





	working late

**Author's Note:**

> this hasn't been beta-ed. I didn't even read it through before I posted. My laziness has reached new levels. If you see a typo, let me know and I'll fix it.

Clarke waits in reception. She’s idly traded half-hearted barbs with Indra in the elevator and checked in with Lexa’s personal assistant, who promptly left, and now she sits in one of those incredibly expensive unbelievably uncomfortable trendy minimalist chairs and fucks around on her phone while she waits. 

The elevator dings again and she looks up for a second--a man in a suit that screams intern, delivering files to the empty reception desk. She goes back to her phone, throwing off a quick text to Octavia confirming their double date on Friday. 

“Hi.”

She looks up. Intern Man is extending his hand to her. “Hey.”

“David.”

Clarke accepts the handshake. “Clarke.”

“Are you with the new group of interns?”

Clarke looks down at herself. Her shirt has paint stains on it, her jeans are wrinkled, and she’s still wearing crocs. There is an absolute zero chance she doesn’t smell like hospital soap and old metal lockers. “No.”

He smiles, ducking his head and looking up at her. “I suppose that was obvious.”

“Yes,” Clarke agrees. She opens a text to Lexa on her phone, angled away from his eyes. _Hello? Remember me, your hot girlfriend?_

“Paralegal,” he guesses. “Pro bono client?”

Clarke sighs. She rests her phone screen down on her thigh. “I’m waiting for my girlfriend.”

His face creases. He flicks a look to the empty desk in front of Lexa’s office. “Oh? I didn’t know…” He shrugs. He’s good looking, Clarke guesses, in that little boy way. Decent paycheck, possibly bright future, vaguely entitled air some girls like. “Don’t suppose I could join you ladies for a drink? On me.”

Clarke sighs again, heaving. She rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “No.”

He shrugs again, still grinning. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, right?”

Clarke most certainly can. “Hm,” is all she says, and returns her attention to her phone.

“So what do you do?” he asks, leaning against the wall and settling in for the long haul. He plays with his watch, big and expensive on his wrist, adjusts his gleaming tie clip. 

Clarke opens her mouth to say something incredibly rude, but Lexa’s door opens, drawing her attention away. Lexa comes out, frowning at her own watch (classy and delicate and a gift from Clarke on their last anniversary). “Clarke,” she says, “I’m sorry, I--” she catches sight of the room and draws up short. Her expression flattens out. 

David has gone into an upright position so fast he might as well have been a soldier. “Mrs. Woods.”

“Ms.,” Lexa corrects, deceptively mild.

Clarke stands and swaggers over to kiss Lexa on the cheek, Lexa bending to accept it. “We’ll see for how long.”

“Don’t propose to me at work, Clarke, it’s tacky.” Lexa snakes an arm around Clarke’s waist, drawing her close and kissing the hair at her temple. 

David is currently jabbing the button for the elevator. Clarke sneaks a kiss to the underside of Lexa’s jaw, resulting in the tightening of Lexa’s hand on her hip. They go into Lexa’s office and shut the door behind them, Lexa checking the blinds are shut tight. 

Clarke flops into the chair opposite Lexa’s desk. “That was fun. Sushi?”

Lexa’s expression flickers. It goes apologetic. “I know I said I would be done in time--”

Clarke waves a hand at her. “Order in?”

Lexa smiles, grateful. “Please.”

++

Clarke stretches out in the chair, slouching down and making a satisfied noise. She licks her chopstick clean of wasabi and throws it in the general direction of the small wastebasket in the corner. It bounces against the wall and lands on the carpeted floor and she shrugs, kicking her shoes off and wriggling her toes in her socks. 

Lexa says something quick and fast into her phone and hangs up, going back to the taptaptap of her laptop. “Oh yeah,” Clarke says, comically breathy, “you know how I like you speaking Japanese.”

Lexa looks up from her screen, faintly incredulous. “That was Spanish.”

Clarke splays her legs open. “Do me.”

It makes Lexa smile, fond, and she stands to come around her desk and kiss Clarke soft and easy. “I suppose,” she murmurs, still bumping against Clarke’s lips. “I can take a break.”

Clarke’s heartrate picks up. “Yeah?”

Lexa pulls away. “Yeah. I’m hungry.”

Clarke pouts. “Tease.”

Lexa pops open her styrofoam container and sighs. “Clarke.”

“You took forever! You know I love tuna.”

“You didn’t even eat the seaweed.”

Clarke shrugs. “I’m doing a paleo thing,” she says, cheeky, and Lexa just rolls her eyes, sitting at her desk and putting her laptop and her files into her bag before picking at what Clarke had left with her fingertips. “I’m all about that… protein,” Clarke adds, and Lexa laughs.

++

“Lexaaaaaaaaa,” Clarke says. 

“Mm.” 

“Lexa.”

“Clarke.”

Clarke sighs. She kicks the edge of the desk to make it shake. “Lexa.”

Lexa looks up from a file folder, eyebrow arched. “Yes, my love?”

Clarke huffs. “Don’t ‘my love’ me. I’m bored.”

“Call your mother.”

Clarke gasps, offended.

Lexa sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know.” She drags her fingers through her hair. “Okay. I’m done.”

She leans back in her chair and sighs, her face still faintly creased. Clarke stands to go behind her and run her fingers over Lexa’s jaw, kiss the top of her head. “Poor baby,” she coos. Lexa rolls her eyes and Clarke flicks her in the forehead. “Shush. Let me coddle you.”

Lexa relaxes a little bit when Clarke pets her sides, kisses her temple. “If you insist.”

Clarke rests her cheek on Lexa’s shoulder, humming faintly and nipping at Lexa’s throat. “Hey. Everyone’s gone, right?”

Lexa checks her watch. “Yes.” Her gaze turns suspicious. “Why?”

Clarke waggles her eyebrows. “Have I told you how much I enjoy you keeping your desktop minimalist?” Lexa swallows. Clarke slides into her lap and the chair wobbles on its wheels, Clarke clutching at Lexa’s forearms. “Pretend that was smoother.”

“Alright,” Lexa murmurs, and catches Clarke is a kiss, messy and full of promise.

They break eventually, quickened breath. Clarke kisses the tip of Lexa’s nose. “You’re thinking about disinfecting your desk, aren’t you?”

Lexa looks shifty. “Not… entirely.”

Clarke traces her nails around Lexa’s throat, enjoying the shivers and the way Lexa tips her head back. “What else are you thinking about?” Lexa makes a noise, soft. Clarke tightens her grip very slightly. “Tell me.”

Lexa opens her eyes. She takes Clarke’s wrist in her hand and guides it behind Clarke’s back, firm and unyielding. “You,” she admits, quiet and sure. “Under my desk.”

Clarke’s eyes widen. “Oh.” Lexa pulls up Clarke’s shirt and bites above the cups of her bra, lingering to suck red blue marks into her chest. “Oh?”

“Mm.” Lexa waits, her grip gone gentle and loose, and waits, one last kiss above Clarke’s heart before sitting back. 

Clarke slides off her lap, until she’s kneeling on the carpet. She places her hands on Lexa’s knees and opens them, slow. Wiggles back under the desk and tugs at Lexa’s legs to make the chair slide closer. The chair wooshes when she adjusts the height. There’s a thin belt running through the loops of Lexa’s slacks, more for show than to keep her pants cinched tight. When she sets her fingers to the buckle Lexa makes a noise; a growl. Clarke freezes. 

Lexa gathers Clarke’s hair up in her hands, gentle, then applies pressure to the back of her head. Clarke swallows a moan and sets her tongue and her teeth to the belt, tasting leather and metallic tang. She whines when she can’t get it right away, fumbling blind. Lexa touches her shoulders, nudging until Clarke puts her arms behind her back, palms to opposite forearms. 

Lexa pets her hair. Murmurs wordless encouragement, traces her nails around Clarke’s ears. Gathers her hair up in two fists and tugs to make Clarke break and moan, helpless. Clarke sits back on her heels, feeling the flush in her face and down her chest and the ache between her thighs. She glares.

Lexa smiles. Her fingers dip into Clarke’s mouth, pausing to press on the sharp tips of her canines before running tickly along her gums and then rubbing hard on her tongue, far back enough Clarke gags. Clarke sets her teeth on her knuckle, closing her lips around Lexa’s fingers and hollowing her cheeks. She watches Lexa’s eyes get dark and hooded and the quick rise fall of her chest and releases with a wet pop. Her nails are spit shiny and she undoes her belt, drawing it out and letting it fall with a soft thump, a muted clink. The drag of her zipper is loud and Clarke butts against Lexa’s knee with her head. She whines. 

Lexa lifts her hips up to wiggle her pants off, Clarke tugging eagerly at them. Lexa’s underwear after, and she tosses them aside only for Lexa to knot a fist in her hair and yank her head the side with a snarl. She pants, big wide eyes, and nods as much as she can with Lexa’s grip on her. Lexa releases and Clarke scrambles out to fold Lexa’s slacks and place them on the desk, Lexa’s plain underwear neatly atop them. She’s back under the desk quick, with a cheeky nip to Lexa’s calf and a playful wiggle of her ass. She hears Lexa’s quiet chuckle, pleased and affectionate, and then Lexa’s hands are on her head and her heels are on Clarke’s back and she’s drawn forward.

Lexa is all heat and slick and Clarke rolls her face in the wet of her before she starts in with her tongue and the faint grazes of her teeth. She knows how Lexa likes it and she likes the way Lexa guides her, rough in the way she knows makes Clarke squirm and press her thighs together. 

She doesn’t try to draw it out and Lexa doesn’t try to hold it in, her low soft moan and sudden hunching, the flutter of her on Clarke’s mouth. Her back will have circle bruises from Lexa’s heels and she licks Lexa’s clean, quiet and soothing on the insides of her thighs, up around her hips. When Lexa nudges her back she goes, sits back with her hands flat on her knees. Lexa’s voice is rough. “You look…” she touches Clarke’s cheek. A mess, Clarke thinks, hair tousled and ruddy faced and Lexa’s slick on her chin, her nose, her cheeks. “Gorgeous,” is what Lexa says. “Come here.”

She draws Clarke back into her lap, pausing only to divest Clarke of her shirt. Pin Clarke between her and the desk and Clarke braces her hands behind her, gripping the edge while Lexa bites at her throat and palms her breasts. 

Lexa stands, abrupt, stretching Clarke over the desk and crawling on top of her, the chair falls over with a clatter, pens rolling off the desk and bouncing on the carpet. Clarke cards her hands through Lexa’s hair, mussing the perfect glossy curls, urging Lexa’s mouth to hers. Lexa’s got Clarke’s pants and underwear down to her knees and one finger curling inside her when Lexa’s phone starts buzzing next to Clarke’s hip. Lexa pauses, goes still. Clarke clenches around her, deliberate. “Don’t you dare. Lexa withdraws and Clarke snarls. “I swear to god--”

Lexa flips her, bare breasts against the cool wood and her hips digging into the edge of the desk. “Quiet.” Clarke opens her mouth and Lexa flicks the curve of her ear. “I mean it.”

Clarke huffs.

“Lexa Woods,” Lexa says into her phone, her free hand on the small of Clarke’s back. She slips two fingers into Clarke and scissors, slow and lazy, and Clarke tunes out of what she’s saying, something boring and complicated and worth too much money. She rests her cheek on the desk and sighs and spreads her legs as far as she can, her jeans falling to her ankles. Loses herself in the slow barely there movements of Lexa’s fingers and Lexa’s nails on her back. “Alright,” Lexa says, breaking through the fog. Clarke hears the phone click, be set down on the desk. Lexa’s fingers withdraw. Clarke mumbles something, wordless; she licks at her dry mouth.

“Lex?”

Lexa kisses the back of her neck, before the warmth of her body lifts off Clarke’s back. She nudges at Clarke’s hips until she’s on her tip toes, guides Clarke’s hands from the edge of the desk to behind her back again. “Just one more thing. Hold still for me?”

“Okay,” Clarke whispers. Lexa slips her fingers into Clarke mouth and lets her tongue swirl for a bit before moving away. Clarke watches her get dressed again, leaving the button and zip undone in her slacks, take her laptop out and settle into the other chair. Clarke shifts on her toes, her calves starting to ache. She feels slick and empty and throbby, clenching around nothing and panting foggy condensation onto the tabletop. She lasts only a minute before she whines.

“Be patient,” Lexa says, absently. Her fingers click over the keys. 

Clarke spaces out. Listens to the tick of the clock on the wall and Lexa working and the muffled traffic sounds from outside the window and far away. Spreads her legs as far as she can so Lexa knows she was being good. Her breathing quiets and she stops shifting. 

++

Lexa touches her hair, very gently. “Clarke?”

Clarke blinks twice. “Mm.”

Lexa tucks a few errant curls behind Clarke’s ear. “Doing okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

Lexa smiles, her eyes crinkling. “Ready?”

“Please.” Lexa starts to move away and Clarke whines again.

“Sshh,” Lexa murmurs. She puts her hand around Clarke’s throat, just soft anchoring weight without any pressure, and Clarke is so wet she slides two fingers in without any resistance. She adds a third so Clarke can feel the stretch of it and Clarke shakes, flinches, comes.

 

Lexa helps her stand and catches her when her knees turn to jelly. Holds her upright and helps her get dressed. Leans Clarke against the desk and kneels at her feet to tug up her jeans and her socks. Sighs heavily at the crocs but slips them on like they’re glass slippers.

Clarke lists into her side and sighs, kissing at Lexa’s cheek. “Carry me.”

Lexa holds onto her with one arm and slings on her bag with the other. “No.”

Clarke pouts. 

Lexa kisses her and Clarke melts. “Am I forgiven?”

Clarke sighs. “I guess.” She links her arm through Lexa’s to steady herself, her brain slowly clearing out the cotton, the world coming back into focus. “I’m hungry. Buy me dinner?”

She’s expecting a jibe about having just ate and planning a way to twist it into a joke that will make Lexa roll her eyes but instead Lexa draws her close and kisses her again, very light. “Of course. Anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think and catch me on tumblr @ feeltripping


End file.
